


Free Pink Bird

by CaetyLou, Tor_88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Diners, Flashbacks, Gen, Saving People Hunting Things, Skinwalker, dean dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaetyLou/pseuds/CaetyLou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tor_88/pseuds/Tor_88
Summary: Strange things keep turning up at the bunker, just when Dean thought he could squeeze in some R&R. Flashback to Queens, New York in 1998, with a prolific Skinwalker is on the loose, only the Winchesters can save the day.





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you to CaetyLou; without her this fic wouldn't exist. Thank you for the support, editing and keeping me going when I hit the dreaded writers block.
> 
> Supernatural and its characters is the property of Eric Kripke and The CW.  
> I am purely writing for enjoyment and love of the programme. I make no money from the use of these characters or series.

It had been a quiet few days in the bunker, the world seemed to be ticking along drama free and with no new cases to investigate; Sam and Dean decided to use their few days of shore leave for a bit of R & R. For Sam that meant catching the latest film noir, where as Dean took a more physical approach, he’d spend his time training, after all a hunter needs to stay sharp.

After a long morning of vigorous sweating, Dean took himself to the kitchen to fix a snack, just your standard triple stacked smoked bacon and cheese. As he walked in he noticed something; something that didn’t belong. With caution he went further into the room. There they were, innocently laying on the counter.

Dean had no idea how they got there. Initially he thought Sam had reignited their prank war, it only seemed like five minutes since their latest truce. But then how could Sam have known about them? As far as Dean knew he had never given away that secret, well not to anyone but himself, but alternate apocalypse world versions didn’t count, right? It’s not every day you’re confronted by a pair of skimpy satin panties and it had been a while since he had last seen them.

He glanced over at them again, he wondered if he had gotten so drunk (if that was even possible any more) that it just slipped out and Sam was using that juicy information to his advantage. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it; the fake tan in the body wash was a stroke of genius on Dean’s part. He was a little impressed by such a thought, after all these years Sam may have learnt something.

‘Why did they have to be pink?’ Dean muttered as he found himself out rightly staring at them. What had come over him?

‘Come on,’ he told himself, as he tried to tear himself away. But he couldn’t, A small smirk played on the corner of his lips as he allowed the memories to wash over him.

‘Rhonda Hurley… oh man the things that chick could do,’ he paused for a moment; remembering back a dirty chuckle bubbling up, ‘she was a little naughty.’


	2. Then

It was your typical day in Queens, New York, 1998. The streets were bustling with people going about their run of the mill lives; the acrid odour of exhaust fumes, tinged with chemicals and the stench of cheap meat cooking punctuated the air. The dulcet hum of traffic provided the city’s distinct soundtrack.

John Winchester stood outside of the local precinct; an uncomfortably normal occurrence for him in recent months, ever since he let Dean work cases with him. He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as he waited for Dean, drawing attention to yourself was the last thing a Hunter needed. John had hoped that leaving him at that boys home a couple of years prior would have straightened him out; obviously not.

He shifted his weight from side to side, he didn’t like being exposed like this. He instinctively switched between checking his watch and the front door for the fifth time in as many minutes. They were supposed to be on a case and this was wasting valuable time.

Suddenly the precinct door swung open and through it swaggered Dean, looking none the worse for a night in the cell. He wore a smirk that John itched to slap off.

However, this all changed once he saw his Dad, the over confidence vanished and morphed into a more sombre expression. Silently John gestured at him to start walking, he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. They’d spent the past two days chasing leads on this Skinwalker, who’d left a trail of heartless vics behind since Secaucus. 

Dean’s pace turned into more of a jog to catch up with his Dad. John purposefully didn’t slow down, he was annoyed and he wanted Dean to know it.

‘What have I told you about playing poker in those back rooms? We’re here to save people not spend the night in jail.’ John spat.

‘Yes sir, but it’s not my fault the guy was a sore loser.’ Dean responded.

‘It’s your fault for playing that damn game!’ He lengthened his stride, although Dean was almost the same height as him now and easily able to match the stride, the childish urge to scamper to keep up hadn’t left him yet.

He heard Dean draw in a breath and quickly held up his hand.

‘Not...one...more...word,’ John commanded, trying to reign in his temper; after all they were in public.

They walked the rest of the block in total silence. He’d left Baby parked in a narrow side street, littered with a rainbow of trash from the dumpster lined walls and towered by the grimy red and yellow bricked buildings. A rat skittered across their path and hissed at them as it dug into its prize of a rancid leftover burger.

John didn’t immediately get in the car. Instead he leaned his elbows on the roof, scrubbing a rough callused hand over his face. Dean stood by the passenger door, head bowed, having the sense to look ashamed of himself as he avoided his father’s eyes. Dean had seen the disappointment, in him, on John’s face many times and it never got easier to witness.

John could tell by the movement of his shoulders that Dean was toeing the side-walk, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. He decided to let him stew, for the time being. It was clear that Dean was dying to talk, to explain himself, to seek forgiveness. But, like a good solider he wouldn’t speak until granted permission.

John finally relented and let out a sigh ‘Dean…’

‘Dad I can...’ Dean began

‘Enough’ John cut him off; the fact was he wasn’t interested in hearing the sorry speech again, there was a monster that needed to be stopped. He reached into the Impala and pulled out the local newspaper from the front seat and tossed it across the pristinely polished black metal.

‘Page 2’ John stated.

Dean scanned the page before focusing on the main story about a sudden string of murders; the very thing that had brought them to Queens. The police were investigating the latest discovery, a young woman found in the early hours, heart missing.

As he examined the article for more details, Dean's face paled, his Adams apple bobbed as he repeatedly swallowed while his eyes continued to scan the article. He hadn’t been hunting with John for long and behind the give ‘em hell attitude hid a frightened little boy who just wanted to make his Dad proud.

In that moment Dean looked so much younger than his nineteen years, but to John that was no excuse. He sighed, ‘You were completely out of order. People are dying and you’re getting your ass slung in jail over some jerk in a God damn poker game! If you did as you were told and had been out hunting with me, you wouldn’t have spent last night cooling your heels in a damn cell, and the cops might not be knocking on her mama’s door with the worst news she’ll ever hear in her life’

Dean eyes began to well, his jaw clenched and he tugged his leather jacket a little tighter around himself. It was almost childlike but he was trying so hard to be strong, to be a man.

John continued, 'You let her down Dean.’

They both knew they weren’t talking about the dead girl in the paper. The only times John mentioned Mary was after a heavy drinking session or as he tore the boys a new one. The severity of the situation hadn’t escaped Dean’s attention.

‘Not only that but you let me and Sam down’

Deans head immediately jerked up at the mention of Sammy, he’d always tried to protect Sam. All he cared about was Sam’s safety. It was bad enough that John wanted to drag Sam into every hunt, any research just call dial-a-geek. This time he was holed up at one of Bobby’s safe houses reading up on Skinwalker’s and the best way to gank them. Dean would’ve given anything to keep Sam out of the ‘Family Business.’

‘You wouldn’t would you…?’

John stared at him, looking almost offended that Dean would suggest such a thing. Sam was the last link he had to Mary and his safety was paramount to him.

‘No Dean I didn’t think about getting Sam, but if I'm hunting and you’re in jail, who’s there to look out for him? Besides if you’re in jail who’s watching my back on a hunt? No-one.’

He momentarily paused, allowing the seriousness of the situation sink in further,

‘And that’s how hunters get dead.’

‘I’m sorry’ Dean whispered,

‘Yeah you may be but sorry doesn’t save lives Dean, you have to learn to think! We need to get in, do our job and get out, we save the people, kill the monster and disappear back into the shadows. Every time your idiot ass ends up on the cops radar you jeopardise the whole operation! “How can you turn up to a scene and convince Officer McFriendly that you are a fellow officer of the law when he’s had to arrest your punk ass for whatever teenage bullshit you’ve decided to pull the night before?' John stopped and shook his head. He swung open the Impala's door, ‘Get in the car.’

He didn’t miss the way Dean dragged the back of his hand over his face and pull a deep, steadying yet shaky breath in before he slid into the passenger seat, slumping low, eyes fixed on his Jean clad knees.

Eventually he murmured, ‘Sorry Sir, it won’t happen again’

John turned the ignition; the distinct purr of the Impala flooded the side alley. Finally, he relented,‘Damn straight it won’t. We got work to do’


	3. Now

Mid afternoon; Sam wasn’t back yet and the only indication that there was life in the bunker was the radio and the unmistakable drone of out of tune singing.

Dean was enjoying the down time. Slumped in an Art Deco library chair, legs perched on the table top corner, he was working his way through his third round of sandwiches, after all that training a guy needs to eat. 

As he polished off his fourth sandwich of the day, pastrami, cheese and pickle this time, the radio DJ boomed, ‘That was Lynyrd Skynyrd and Saturday Night Special. Don’t you dare change channel up next, by special request, is this 1979 classic. Give it up for The Knack and My Sharona.’

As the distinctive intro began, Dean’s eyes lit up. He hadn’t heard that song in years, it never made it to his tape collection. He tried to resist the lure of the melody, but it was useless, he’d already begun toe- tapping the beat.

Then the singing started, in all its tone-deaf glory, ‘...pretty one, my pretty one…...My Sharona.’ It wasn’t long before he started playing air guitar with the bassist; then the rest of his body betrayed him. Air guitar quickly progressed to leg guitar and the singing got louder.

As the song reached the second verse; Dean suddenly jerked out of the chair and began to dance around the mahogany tables. Dean’s hips rolled provocatively, he was really getting into it. He slipped the sleeve of his red and black plaid shirt rolling his shoulders in time to the tune.

The volume of the music drowned out the familiar screech of the bulky bunker door; unbeknownst to Dean, Sam walked through the entrance. Curious by the sound, Sam peered over the balcony, but the War Room was clear. He stood back, puzzled he questioned, ‘My Sharona?’

‘Hey’ Sam called, his boots clunking as they hit the metal spiral staircase. As he approached the bottom he saw Dean spinning the shirt around before throwing it across the room with a flourish and mouthing ‘whoa.’ It landed on one of the side tables sending the items on it violently crashing to the ground.

‘Dean’ Sam called as he crossed the War Room, feebly trying to suppress a laugh. Dean was too engrossed to hear a sound. Instead he continued to dance, suggestively dragging his hands down the front of his legs, as the radio blasted, ‘running down the length of my thigh ….’

‘Dean.’ Sam repeated, this time standing in the door way, awkwardly watching Dean strut his stuff. Sam watched with dismay as Dean slowly unbuckled his belt. With the dulled silver buckle in his hand he whipped it above his head like a lasso. In perfect musical unison he released the belt, it spun around in mid-air, straight into the direction of Sam.

‘DUDE,’ Sam exclaimed as he swerved, just in time for the buckle to miss his head and thud against the grey stone.

Dean froze. He blinked once and raced over to the radio, fumbling with the buttons eventually shutting it off. He stood with his back to Sam, thinking how he could talk his way out of this.

‘How long has he been there?’ He whispered to himself, wondering why he hadn’t noticed Sam’s return. Dean felt his cheeks burn red, an awkward silence descended.

Finally, he turned around, fully composed but still avoiding eye contact and stated, ‘You saw nothing.’

Sam chuckled, ‘Yeah? tell that to my eyeballs.’


	4. Then

The parking lots of skeevy motels never change. Cracked drab magnolia exteriors streaked with blue green mould, the occasional parked, or possibly abandoned car and brown plants that just refuse to die, even though no one has tended them in weeks. Dean was far too comfortable with this scenery; after all these places were the closest thing he’d had to a childhood home.

It was late afternoon and John had decided it was time to set up base camp, which meant tepid showers, strange humming from the luminous red No Vacancy sign and uncomfortable nights on a crappy mattress with mysterious stains on the sheets that you did not ask or think about.

Dean, pissed off by his dad’s not so peppy pep talk, slouched against the Impala's trunk as he waited for John to get back with the room key.

He relished these moments alone as he was able to check in with Sam, without being bombarded with questions by John. Although recently, Sam had seemed obsessed with coming with them. Dean couldn’t help but think it wasn’t because Sam wanted to hunt monsters; he simply missed his big brother.

‘I've told you Sammy, I tried talking to Dad, but he won’t have it.’

He could hear the disappointment in Sam’s voice.

‘Of course I asked him. Have I ever lied to you?’ Dean responded, a broad grin lingering on his face. He knew he’d lied to Sam countless times. In fact, he was lying to him right now. He’d never ask John if Sam could join them; besides he had an important role to play...research at the local library with countless Triple Red Eye’s by his side.

Dean had to suppress his giggling as Sam regaled the list of things he had lied to him about in the past month alone, ‘Apart from that…...and that…. and that. Oh, come one that one wasn’t my fault.’

‘Yes, Sam I know you’re not a little kid any more. Even if your voice sounds like an extra from Alvin and the Chipmunks,’ Dean chuckled.

An awkward silence lingered in the air, which usually meant Sam was sulking over Dean’s remarks. Dean hated the silent treatment, and Sam knew it so when he wouldn’t back down, Dean cracked,‘Come on Sam don’t be like that.’

Suddenly, Dean heard a door click shut; he looked across the parking lot to see John emerging from Reception and heading over to him.

‘Look Sam I've gotta go, say hi to Bobby for me.’ Before Sam had time respond Dean hung up and quickly put his phone into his weather-beaten jacket pocket. As he saw John approach, Dean dutifully opened the trunk, grabbed the khaki duffles and headed over to him.

‘Did you check in with Sam?’ John asked, as they reached their motel door.

‘Briefly, he’s fine Sir. Bobby’s getting him read up on exorcisms.’ Dean flatly replied.

‘Damn it. I told Bobby to keep Sam focused on the case.’ John’s forehead furrowed.

They entered their room, their home from home for the next few days. The room was your standard dive. The stale smell of a room that hadn’t been open in weeks, mismatched cheap furniture and one of the most garish wallpapers Dean had seen. Someone should have told the decorator that 1970s brown and yellow was not a good look.

‘Oh yeah, Sam already found something about that.’ Dean hurriedly responded, as he shifted his shoulders.

John’s raised eyebrow signalled that John suspected he was talking out of his ass but waited for him to continue. Instead Dean slung the duffles onto the beds; claiming the right bed as his own.

John looked over to Dean, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes,‘Well...what did he find?’

‘He mentioned something about a local diner,’ Dean squirmed, hoping that he had remembered what Sam had said properly.

John looked over at Dean waiting for him to continue, letting out a frustrated huff when he didn’t...  
‘Anything in particular about this Diner?’

‘Err, just that all the vics were seen there the day before they were found.’ Dean looked to John to see if this piece of information would satisfy him.

John exhaled, his shoulders loosened, and he seemed more relaxed, finally there was a potential lead in Queens.

‘Ok, you stay here while I go do the suit and tie dance with the Coroner. We’ll check out the diner in the morning, see if anyone has seen anything strange.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Dean responded, although his attention was caught by the Magic Fingers box at the side of the bed.

John rifled through his duffle until he came across his multi-purpose detective fake I.D. ‘Hello, Detective Steele.’ He uttered to himself, half smiling as he looked at the picture of himself on the front. He quickly pocketed the badge and turned to Dean.

‘I mean it Dean. Keep the door and windows locked’

‘Yeah I heard you the first time,’ Dean uttered as he made a beeline for his bed.

John shook his head, ‘Dean I'm serious. I want this monster dealt with. I'm not wasting another morning bailing you out of jail.’

‘Yes sir,’ Dean answered as John shut the door. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a couple of quarters. A broad smile beaming across his face.

‘Well Magic Fingers, I guess it’s you, me, a pizza and pay per view.’

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Bleary eyed, Dean looked over at the screeching alarm, that had so rudely disturbed his sleep.

‘6am...why up at 6am.’ He murmured reaching out to shut it off. Ever since he was a kid, John insisted they were all up by 6am, he’d always tell them, ‘any later is a waste of daylight.’ 

As his eyes began to focus on his surroundings, Dean could see that John had wasted no time in mapping the connections between the vics. The back wall was covered in newspaper articles dating back 6 weeks, crime scene photos, coroners reports of each victim, and some very graphic photos. All cross referenced with Post Its of lore taken from John’s journal.

John was sitting on the uncomfortable, red Formica chair, cup of Joe and the local paper open on the table, he heard Dean stir,

‘Mornin,’ he called as he scanned the paper, hoping for a clue to leap out at him. He sighed as he turned the page, nothing so far.

‘How’d you sleep?’ Dean asked, now sitting upright in his bed, rubbing his eyes.

‘I got my 4 hours,’ John answered reaching out for his coffee, he took a mouthful, then returned to the paper. Both knew John hadn’t slept, not really, and that he wouldn’t until the case was solved.

Finally, John looked round to Dean, who was eyeballing the evidence wall, shaking his head as he turned back,

‘Are you just going to sit there? Get dressed, we’re heading out in 15.’

‘What about breakfast?’

John rolled his eyes and sighed, ‘I said get dressed.’


	5. Now

Through the doorway, Cas saw Dean putting the finishing touches to something; he couldn’t see what had been made but it smelled delicious. He could hear the unmistakable sound of Dean humming Smoke on the Water, although he still didn’t understand why water would have smoke on it.

‘This is what was so important?’ Cas demanded as he approached the kitchen.

Dean stopped humming as he noticed his friend in the doorway, he glanced over and noticed the pensive expression on his face.

Some things never change, Dean thought, ‘Whoa Cas take it easy.’ He smiled, ‘there’s no fire OK, at least not today. Sam and I are taking some well-deserved R & R and figured you’d want to join us.’

Cas relaxed, but now he was confused, despite the length of time he’d been around humans, there were some things he still didn’t understand. His forehead creased and his eyebrows narrowed, he asked Dean,‘What is R and R? Is it some sort of spell?’

Dean smirked and chuckled loudly, ‘no spell, no demon, no end of the freaking world stuff. Just some food, the tube and relaxation.’

‘So, doing nothing?’ Cas asked in a flat tone.

‘Pretty much,’ Dean responded, ‘What do Angels do with their Heaven downtime?’

‘We would await our orders.’

‘What fun lives you guys lead.’ Dean sniped, as he constructed the last of his masterpieces.

Cas stepped further into the kitchen, glancing over at the stainless-steel counter, he saw stacks of handcrafted burgers. Cas felt a nostalgic warmth combined with a desire to devour the whole lot; a memory from Jimmy Novak he suspected.

‘What are those?’

‘Burgers.’ Dean replied.

Cas rolled his eyes, ‘Yes I know that Dean.’ He then returned his attention back to the burgers, ‘What kind?’

Dean puffed out his chest, Sam usually complained that they weren’t healthy enough and how he’s surprised Dean’s still alive; it was nice to have someone interested for once. He carefully picked up the first burger, like it was the most delicate thing in the whole world. Beaming with pride he explained, ‘I call this, The Cowboy.’

‘The Cowboy?’ Cas repeated, yet another human term he didn’t understand.

Dean considered himself a fast food connoisseur based on his in-depth research at the vast number of scuzzy burger joints he’d sampled over the years. ‘The secret to this baby is the marinade. I leave the patty to marinate in a sticky BBQ sauce for at least 24 hours and top with streaky smokey bacon, extra crispy. When you bite into it you get saucy sweetness and bacon smokiness.’

‘And that one?’ Cas queried as he pointed to the other stack on the counter.

Dean felt almost euphoric as he picked up his other creation, ‘This one...’ he could feel the drool beginning to form in the corner of his mouth, ‘took months to perfect. I call it the Dean-ablo, a dangerous mix of beef and three kinds of chilli.’ Dean smirked, ‘I once put so much chilli in that Sam’s head almost blew off.’

Cas’s brows furrowed, ‘I don’t understand, how would ground beef cause an explos…. Oh, you are being figurative.’

Dean rolled his eyes, as he returned Dean-ablo to the tray, ‘Yeah Cas.’

He picked up two of the plates, looked over at the third then at Cas and then back to the plate. As Cas stood in the same position, completely oblivious to what Dean was asking of him; leading Dean to sigh in frustration,

‘Little help Cas,’ he asked, gesturing back to the plate.

Cas lurched forward and scooped it up, ‘where are we taking these?”

‘Game room.’ Dean commanded as he left the kitchen, with Cas dutifully following.

It’s a short walk from the kitchen, two lefts and a right through the bunker’s intricate corridor system. The room was nothing more than a glorified basement, Dean saw it as a work in progress.

Sam was fiddling with the TV and sound system set up, when he heard the distinctive clunking of boots mixed with the increasing volume of familiar voices. He turned to see Dean, followed by Cas walk through the door.’

‘Hey Cas, didn’t expect to see you here.’ Sam called.

‘Dean said I needed some ‘R&R.’ ’ Cas attempted to make an air quite motion with his free hand. He glanced over to Dean and then back to Sam, ‘I'm still not convinced that it isn’t a spell.’

Sam awkwardly chuckled, before looking over at the feast Dean had brought.

‘Wow Dean, how many cows did you sacrifice this time?’

Dean scowled; he was almost offended, ‘Sam for the first time in months we can just chill. So, I thought we deserved a treat. But hey if you don’t want them.’ He began to pull the platter away.

Sam slammed his gigantor paw onto Dean’s arm, ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want any.’ He smiled as he released his grip.

‘OK, we’ve got the food, the tube...’ Dean looked around slightly panicked, ‘dude where’s the beer? You were supposed to get the beer. That was the deal, I prepare the food, you get the booze.’

‘Relax, on ice, over there.’ Sam pointed toward the glorified chest freezer that Dean had dubbed ‘the beer fridge.’

Dean relaxed his shoulders and smiled, ‘Great we’ve got everything we need for an awesome night. Grab a beer, a burger and a seat.’

Both Sam and Cas followed Dean’s unofficial order as he selected his movie of choice.

As the opening credits began, Sam couldn’t help but scoff, ‘Dude seriously, what is it with you and this movie?’

Dean looked at him with disbelief ‘It’s a classic’

‘Yeah right, you’re just saying that because of her.’

‘Hey, Sarah Michelle Gellar is a real talent.’ Dean blushed as he hit the play button, ‘and she looks really hot in those boots.’

Cas craned his head to one side, puzzled by what he was hearing, ‘Why is the dog talking?’

Sam and Dean simultaneously look at Cas and start to chuckle.


	6. Then

Lacy’s was your average local diner; cheap neon sign in the window, tattered red booths, the specials listed in bright colourful chalk, the hum of patrons fuelling up for their day, punctured by the sharp sound of a bell quickly followed by ‘order up.’

Dean’s nostrils were immediately hit by the sticky sweet aroma of pancakes swimming in syrup, bacon and coffee. He could feel his stomach gurgling, the promise of a short stack with a side of bacon was almost too much.

John surveyed the booths for a local man, Levi Hector, who had information about the latest victim. John thought it would be more efficient to meet him at the last place they were seen alive.

‘Focus on the case.’ John uttered as Dean headed to the counter. John grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back, ‘... got it?’

Dean shrugged his shoulder, forcing John to release his grip, ‘Yes sir.’

‘Good, now do you think you can stay out of trouble long enough for me to see if that guy over there has anything useful to say?’

Dean glanced over to the middle-aged man in the far booth, before turning back, replying, ‘There’s pancakes, I'm good.’ He shot a cheeky grin at his father and headed over to an empty seat at the main counter.

John shook his head smiling a little, ‘Dean always loved his mom’s pancakes,’ he muttered as he headed over to Mr Hector, who was shifting uneasily in his seat.

As Dean sat down on the swivel stool he noticed the waitress at the other end of the counter pouring some guy a cup of coffee. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was 5”7, vivacious, with deep auburn shoulder length hair; contrasted by a lime green headband. What really caught Dean’s attention was her piercing blue eyes, hint of mystery with a I-can-rock-your-world stare.

Dean began to fidget in his seat and let out a quiet, nervous laugh. His past experience with girls hadn’t been the runaway success he’d led Sam to believe; Sam needed a hero big brother not an awkward, shy kid.

As the waitress was serving an elderly couple in their booth, Dean sat there, fantasising about what she would look like in her underwear, which quickly progressed to how she looked naked, he thought about potential lines he could use; even though Bobby had tried, and failed, to teach him that chicks don’t like cheesy pick-up lines.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked, as she stood opposite Dean; pencil in one hand, grease stained order book in the other.

‘Can I get a short-stack and coffee with a side of your number.’ Dean asked with a wide smirk.

‘Wow, smooth, has that worked on anybody...ever?’ she scoffed,

‘You tell me’ Dean quickly glanced at her name tag, ‘Rhonda, cute name by the way.’

Rhonda smiled a little, ‘You’re persistent, I'll give you that.’

‘I'd say adorable with a hint of daring,’ Dean answered with a flirty wink

Rhonda momentarily turned away, she felt her cheeks blush. She felt the corners of the mouth begin to grin. She quickly shook her head, to regain her composure and turned back round to see Dean broadly smiling.

‘Daring, huh?’ Rhonda sniped. She slowly and deliberately, leaned over the counter. Dean quickly noticed that he could see straight down her yellow polyester shirt and glimpsed her hot pink satin bra with a black lace trim.

‘Nice,’ he thought. But ever the gentleman he refocused his attention to her eyes. Dean subconsciously mimicked her body language, ‘Oh sweetheart you have no idea.’

‘If you’re so daring, prove it,’ she said in a provocative tone. She leaned in a little further, ‘see that Jukebox over there?’ She nodded towards the corner of the diner, noticing Dean was a little slow on the uptake, Rhonda placed her index finger under his chin directing his gaze over to the jukebox.

Dean glanced over at the shabby machine, he nodded in agreement, ‘uhhuh.’

‘I want you… to go over there… and put on… My Sharona.’

Dean scoffed, ‘Seriously? My Sharona?’

Rhonda straightened up, ‘What's wrong with it?’

‘Nothing…’ he paused, ‘ if you like crap sung by skeevy dudes.’

Rhonda abruptly pushed away from the counter, leaving Dean gawping like an idiot. Her lips tightened, eyes hardened, Dean was sure if looks could kill he’d be dead.

‘Fine,’ she stated, ‘pancakes and coffee right?’ Without giving Dean the time to respond Rhonda spun round and stomped over to the serving hatch and started to bark Dean’s order to the line cook.

Dean sat dumbfounded by what had just happened, ‘ You idiot,’ he thought, ‘you should never be honest with a girl you’re trying to impress. Why didn’t you just lie and just say you like the stupid song?’

He glanced over at John, who seemed to be making head way with Mr Hector. If anything, it looked like getting him to shut up was the real challenge.

‘Great,’ he muttered, ‘looks like I'm stuck here.’

Mindlessly, Dean started tapping on the counter with his fingers, his tapping tune of choice was usually the intro to Smoke on the Water but not today. He briefly looked over at the jukebox as he realised what he was tapping.

‘Crap!’ he uttered as he sat there. As he thought about it for a little while longer, spending equal amounts of time between gazing at Rhonda, who was serving other customers their refill of coffee, and the jukebox. ‘What the hell,’ he muttered as he strode over to the jukebox,, slipping his hand into his right jean pocket and fishing out a couple of quarters. He did a quick scan of the playlist until he found it; My Sharona.

‘Track 69, huh...accurate.’ He snickered as he selected play. 

As the jukebox blasted the intro, Rhonda turned her head to see Dean leaning on the jukebox grinning; the corner, she quickly turned back round to the customers she was serving, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips, ‘the guy’s got guts.’ she thought

Dean returned to his stool, to find Rhonda was waiting for him; leaning on the counter once more, twirling a section of her hair around her finger.

‘Looks like you’re more daring than I gave you credit for.’ She cooed

Dean grinned, ‘This is more like it,’ he thought. As he was about to ask her out, Dean heard low level groaning from the other patrons.

‘What’s eating them?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing...’ she paused, lulling Dean into a false sense of security, ‘I get any guy who asks for my number to put that song on...it’s on a lot’ Rhonda smirked

Dean shifted back into his seat ‘So you get asked out a lot, huh?’ he stammered

‘Yeah... but none of them are as cute as you.’ Rhonda responded with a wink and a hint of a smile.

Suddenly, Dean felt a rough hand grab his right shoulder; quickly he spun round  
‘Hey buddy, do you….’ he stopped; his posture stiffened, as he realised who it was, ‘oh... hey Dad.’

‘Come on we’ve got a lead.’ John interjected

Dean looks back and forth between Rhonda, who was serving coffee to a lady three seats away, and his Dad looming over him “but… I’m kinda in the middle of something” he mumbles toward his chest

John glanced over to Rhonda then back to Dean, ‘Sure you are.’

Dean reluctantly got off the stool, he called over to Rhonda, ‘So pick you up after your shift?

‘Now.’ John barked as he headed for the door.

Rhonda smiled, ‘Sure. I get off at 10’

Dean beamed, ‘I'm Dean by the way.’

As Dean trailed after his Dad, visibly pouting at the fact he’s missing breakfast, he heard the high pitched bell and the cook bark, ‘Order up.’ 

In the server window Dean saw his short stack, dripping in sticky syrup, at the window, ‘Son of a bitch,’ he shouted as he left Lacey’s Diner.


	7. Then

‘We’ve spent hours looking in abandoned buildings and found nothing.’ Dean whined as he trudged through the vacant lot

‘You don’t just give up because you’re bored Dean,’ John commented, ‘you work the case until its done.’ He strode through the main entrance and towards a set of corridors.

‘Just once can the case be near a strip club,’ Dean uttered under his breath.

This was the third warehouse they had searched in as many hours, and nothing; just another creepy vast expanse with the remnants of the past surrounding them. John quickly cleared each adjoining room, only to look to see Dean trailing behind.

‘Dean focus,’ John barked, marching ahead to the next room, he was on a mission and nothing was going to stop him. Dean skulked through the cleared corridors; occasionally looking into the empty rooms, finding nothing but rusted machinery.

‘What are we looking for?’ Dean whispered.

‘The guy at the diner, Levi, told me he’d seen a group of kids with a pack of dogs. He said he was sure he saw a dog one second and then a guy in its place. But, he couldn’t remember what warehouse exactly,’ John exclaimed

John stopped at a junction, he sighed; the last thing he wanted was for Dean to be out of his sight, ‘Damn it,’ he shook his head, ‘you take the left, I’ll go right. Focus... clear?

‘Yes sir,’ Dean replied, and headed left.

Dean began clearing each room, back to the wall, gun ready; just like he was taught. But it very quickly became a tedious exercise, ‘This sucks,’ he muttered, ‘abandoned warehouse after abandoned warehouse. I’m not a snot nosed kid. I’m 19, I know what I’m doing.’

Dean continued to the next room, ‘Bobby would let me,’ he sulked, as he remembered the time Bobby took them camping and they played extreme hide and seek. Dean always hid in the dense bushes, watching Sam and Bobby search for hours. He chuckled, ‘they never got me... man good times’

‘Dean...Dean?’ John called, his voice echoing through the desolate atmosphere.

‘Over here,’ Dean replied, as he cleared the final room.

‘Anything?’ John asked.

As Dean shook his head, John let out an exasperated sigh, ‘back to town I guess.’

As they made their way back, Dean relaxed into his seat; casually glancing over at John to see his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning a hue of white. He knew exactly what that meant; John was pissed.

With the purr of the Impala punctuating the uncomfortable silence, Dean couldn’t help but wonder what they both feared. Finally, he cleared this throat, 'maybe....' he hesitated, 'maybe, the Skinwalker’s moved on?’' He didn’t dare look at John.

'It can't have,' John spat, 'there's always three kills before it moves on.'

Abruptly he slammed on the brakes, the Impala screeched to a stop in the middle of the vacant highway. John looked over at Dean, 'We've got one shot to stop it, before we have to start over.'

'Yes sir.' Dean responded, he wanted this case wrapped up just as much, although he wasn’t desperate to go looking for the next monster to hunt.

John set off once more in the direction of their Motel, he sighed ‘maybe there’s a clue I missed. There has to be something, on that wall or even the diner. I need to get the son of a bitch,' he thought.

Dean's head leaned on the side of the window, mindlessly looking at the scenery pass by. He abruptly sat up as in the distance he noticed Rhonda walking down the deserted street; and she wasn't alone. Dean scratched his head, which hadn't gone unnoticed.

'Dad slow down,' Dean stated, looking over at Rhonda and her companion.

John looked over, 'there's more where she came from,'.

Dean knew that was John's attempt at being a parent; it didn't help. He took a second look at her companion. The guy looked like a standard Mickey Mouse Club reject; floppy blonde hair with platinum frosted tips, greyscale jumper and acid wash jeans that looked 3 sizes too large and a sea shell necklace.

'Dick,' Dean chuckled to himself.

But then, as they passed, he noticed something in the rearview; an unusual crescent mark on the back of the guy’s neck. He sat there thinking about what Sam had said about Skinwalkers and what he’d seen on John's wall of crazy. Quickly, he pulled out his cell and dialled,

'Sammy, no time to talk, did you read about a Skinwalker with a mark similar to a bite?'

Dean sat and listened to Sam, ignoring John's obvious glare, 'I told you not to involve Sam,' he spat.

'Thanks Sam...always am.' Dean hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket.

'He said,' Dean began, ignoring John's scolding remark, 'the reports from the witness accounts said that the vics were last seen with a guy who had an unusual birthmark, like a crescent, on his neck.'

Dean looked in the side mirror and saw them turn into the next ally, ‘Rhonda’s gotta be the next vic.’ he asserted

‘You sure?’ John queried

‘Yes sir,’ Dean reassured

John sped up and headed towards the next entrance, ‘we’ve got to catch this son of a bitch...tonight.’ 

He quickly found a spot to conceal the Impala and headed towards the couple, ensuring he wasn’t seen. Dean mimicked John’s every move as they inched closer and closer they could hear Rhonda and the Mouseketeer talking.

‘You’re sweet, Cody but I really must be getting back.’ Rhonda said as she made her way to the end of the ally.

‘Come on baby, don’t be a tease.’ He responded, clamping his hand around her arm.

‘Hey that’s not funny.’ She tried to move away but his grip was too tight. ‘Seriously, let me go.’ Rhonda exclaimed, trying to wrench her arm from his grasp.

Suddenly, Cody jerked Rhonda backwards, losing her balance, she fell into the side of a nearby dumpster, with a crash that made Dean flinch. She grabbed her head in pain. Cody let out a spiteful laugh. She looked up, bewildered, to see Cody approaching her like a leopard toying with its prey.

‘You know...I tried to be nice,’ he smirked, ‘but you’re just like the others,’ Cody’s eyes gleamed in the dim light as he approached, he squatted down in front of her and pushed a lock of hair from her eyes. She scrambled back, her left black slip-on pump falling off, but the unforgiving metal of the dumpster held her trapped. She slapped at his chest, he batted her hands away without a flinch, ‘so you… gots… to… go,’ he sing-songed tapping her nose with his index finger to punctuate each word. He leaned in closer, as if going for a kiss, pulling a whimper from her ‘I'm really going to enjoy this,’ he exclaimed a broad grin forming on his lips, as he traced his index finger down the side of her cheek.

‘The lady said, let go.’ John’s voiced boomed around the walls

Cody looked around him but couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, ‘Butt out Pops. I’m just talking to my girl.’

‘From where I’m standing, she’s not your girl,’ John quipped back

Cody took in a sharp huff of air ‘I’ll find you old man, just cos I can’t see you don’t mean I can’t smell you.’ He sprang to his feet, turning toward the open alley and pulling a deeper breath, his tongue flicking over his impossibly sharp teeth, his head slowly turning side to side as he searched for his new quarry.

Rhonda, awestruck by what was happening, couldn’t help but look on as Cody was being taunted by this mystery voice. Suddenly she felt a hand grasp her arm and pull her to the side of the dumpster; she recoiled, lashing out and drawing in a breath to scream but was prevented by another hand over her mouth.

‘Shhhh,’ he whispered, Dean spun Rhonda round, protecting her from Cody, ‘we’re here to save you.’ Rhonda looked up and realised it was Dean. She relaxed her shoulders as he slowly took his hand away from her mouth.

‘Do you make a habit of lurking around alley ways?’ Rhonda pushed Dean in frustration, ‘He’s just some jerk.’

‘Trust me he’s not.’ Dean warned.

She glanced over his shoulder to locate her attacker only to find he had disappeared and in his place was pile of clothes and a seriously pissed fluffy French Poodle, complete with a scabbed over crescent mark on the back of his neck. Abruptly, it charged off around the corner, yapping and sniffing desperately searching for the mystery voice.

Rhonda’s mouth dropped in horror, ‘Holy crap, what just happened.’

‘A monster happened.’ Dean replied, in a very calm and steady tone  
.  
Rhonda turned to him, ‘A monster?’ She tried to laugh it off, ‘There’s no such thing.’

‘Trust me sweetheart, monsters are real,’ Dean affirmed. He puffed his chest out, ‘And I fight them… well my dad and I fight them. It’s kind of the family business.’

Suddenly, Dean heard the sound of something crashing into metal cans, ‘Dad?’ he called, when he heard no response he immediately got up and raced over to the source of the noise.

As Dean skidded around the corner he saw that Cody had morphed back into his human form and was grimacing as he sat in the, now crumpled, trash cans, his cheek grazed and beginning to puff up.

‘Not cool old man,’ Cody whined.

John noticed Dean’s arrival, ‘The girl? Did you get her out of here?’

‘She’s fine… she’s safe.’ Dean answered, knowing that John would be pissed if he knew where Rhonda really was. Dean looked over to the mangled trash cans, puzzled he asked, ‘Where’d he go?’

Without warning, Cody leapt out from behind a dumpster and sprinted straight towards John. John dug his feet into the ground, bracing for impact. However, before Cody could even land a punch, Dean came to his father’s aid.

Dean charged into Cody, dropping his shoulder to hit the creatures stomach. He felt Cody’s balled fist connect with the side of his face, snapping it to the side as the force passed through his jaw. Dean steadied himself as he felt the corner of his lip begin to pulsate and blood trickle down his chin. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

As Dean tried to block and dodge Cody’s punches, he was forming a plan. He needed to get Cody off his feet, the easiest way to do that was a low kick to the back of the leg. As Dean dodged a right hook, he spotted his window of opportunity; seamlessly, he got beside Cody, hooking his foot into the nape of Cody’s patella, he drove it forward; immediately propelling Cody to the ground like a California Redwood.

Dean grinned, silently thanking his Dad (and Bobby) for the years of training and drills, as he laid blow after blow into Cody’s sides. Cody grunted in pain, trying to block the hits, squirming to get Dean off him; a desperate attempt to try and regain control of the situation. He got a knee in between them, wedging his foot into Dean’s core, and pushed up. The move bought him precious seconds and enough space to plant both feet into Dean’s chest and kick hard, forcing Dean to sprawl backwards across the cracked concrete floor, winded.

Cody scrabbled up and launched himself on top of him, pressing his knees into Dean’s chest, keeping him down. His slim hands wrapped around Dean’s throat and pressed his weight down, Deans hands grasped Cody’s arms, trying to pull them away. He hit at them, dug his short nails in and raked them down but he had lost the advantage. His feet kicked out and his hits weakened. Grey spots began to dance in his vision. This was it, the last thing Dean thought he would ever see on this earth was a freaking Mouseketeer, leaning over him with a murderous twinkle in his eye. Suddenly the pressure eased, Dean rolled to his side, gasping and coughing, bright lights replaced the grey in his vision and pins and needles flooded his body. He registered Cody hefted off his feet in John’s bear hug. Cody kicked and thrashed, spit flew everywhere as he growled but Johns grip only tightened.

Suddenly, Cody shifted, the weight change forced John to stagger forward. The eight-pound poodle, plunged his razor sharp canines into his forearm and easily slipped out of John’s grasp. As soon as his four paws hit the ground Cody shifted back to human and used Johns momentum to propel him head first into the trash cans. John rolled onto his back with a groan, sounds of glass crunching underneath him.

‘Told you old man, I was gunna get ya.’ Cody crowed, as he hovered over John, whose bloody arm was outstretched, searching for his knife.

Silently Dean crept up behind Cody, drew out his silver knife and plunged it into the centre of his back. Cody stopped, and looked down to see the glint of the blade protruding out under his sternum, blood flowing down his body. He slumped to the ground, whining softly at the pain. Three laboured breaths and it was over.

‘Now you can’t hurt anyone ever again,’ John grimaced, as he approached the still corpse. As he drew out the blade from Cody’s chest, wiping it on his jacket sleeve, Dean rushed over to Rhonda, who was sat by the dumpster wide eyed; trying to make sense of what was going on.

Rhonda’s eyes had widened as she saw Dean approach her, shaken, she stammered, ‘So, family business huh?’

Dean smiled uneasily, ‘Pretty much.’

‘So, you and your Dad… this is your job?’

Dean nodded,  
‘You fighting that...that thing was so…’ she slowly dragged the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip, ‘hot’

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, ‘Seriously?’ he paused as Rhonda gave him a flirty wink. A broad grin slid across his face.   
He leaned in, ‘what time do you get off again?’


	8. Then

It had been a couple of hours since the Skinwalker had been dealt with, John had ensured the events of the alley couldn’t be traced back to him or Dean. Cody’s lifeless body had been bundled into the trunk, ready for the salt and burn camp out in a nearby woodland.

Back at the motel, John had already begun his post case celebration; the wall of crazy had been taken down and he’d settled into the moth bitten, bottle green arm chair, a six pack and a bottle of Jim Bean close beside.

Dean, on the other hand, had locked himself in the bathroom as he got ready for his date with Rhonda. He’d just gotten out of the shower, the rough motel towel wrapped around his waist, he stared a himself in the mirror.

In a low voice he muttered, ‘Come on man you’ve got this… just go for it. Remember what Bobby taught you.’ He stood for a moment as he heard Bobby’s voice in his head, ‘Confidence boy, girls dig confidence.’ He smirked, ‘she’s gorgeous and you…’ Dean’s grin broadened as he winked at himself, ‘you’re Dean Winchester.’

‘Dean, hurry it up. Spending hours in there isn’t going to make you look any better.’ John called, ‘she’s not that special,’ he mumbled as he swigged his second can.

Eventually Dean emerged, in his cleanest and least ripped dark denim jeans, freshly stolen fitted white T and a navy unbuttoned shirt. ‘Perfect,’ he thought, as he checked himself out in the mirror. He strolled over to the small table, under the Motel room window, to grab his leather jacket. As he picked it up he saw the keys on the scuffed white vinyl table, he glanced over at John, who was transfixed on an old military flick, and asked, ‘Dad can I borrow the car?’

‘If you scratch her…you’re dead.’ John responded, maintaining his previous position.

‘Yes sir,’ Dean acknowledged, he knew not to mess with Baby not after John found out about Sam and Dean carving their initials in her when they were kids.

Dean took Rhonda to a steak joint a few blocks away from Lacey's Diner The sign outside read ‘best ribs in the US’ which Dean saw as a challenge as he was sure the best ribs were in Austin, Texas. Rhonda looked less than impressed, she was thinking quaint Italian, but, she gave him a chance, after all he’d just saved her, plus he was cute.

Dean behaved like a gentleman, pulled out her chair and everything. The typical date small talk flowed, Dean ordered a beer (thank you fake I.D) and Rhonda ordered a scotch on the rocks, which really impressed him. As he was with a pretty girl, Dean stopped himself from ordering the ‘Gut buster Rib plate,’ which boasted as having four types of ribs with seven different seasoning's. Instead he decided on a modest steak. The evening went on, the meal came and went, drinks and flirtatious innuendo continued between them. Dean felt more and more relaxed and was enjoying the normalcy of it all.

Suddenly, Dean’s body jerked, almost knocking a glass off the table, as he felt a foot climb up his leg. He looked over at Rhonda, who was smiling seductively, her eyes dark with a lusty twinkle to them. As her foot continued to rise, a gleeful smirk began to form from the corner of his mouth. Rhonda responded with a flirty wink as she said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

About 20 minutes later, Dean pulled up outside of Rhonda’s apartment. It was a modest downtown block. The street was deserted and calm. Dean turned the engine off and looked over to Rhonda and smiled, ‘Well here we are.’

Rhonda got out of Baby and started heading towards her door; she turned around to Dean (who was still in the driver’s seat) and asked, her eyes dark with desire, in a seductive tone, ‘You coming?’ 

She didn’t need to tell him twice. Dean, trying not to trip over his own feet in his excitement, followed her up the path. He couldn’t resist watching her pert ass sway as she walked to the door, ‘Awesome,’ he uttered.

Once in the hallway, Rhonda spun around and devoured Dean’s lips with her own. In return Dean pinned her against the door frame, his hands wrapped around her waist, her hands clasped around his neck. As the kissing become more passionate, Rhonda slipped off Dean’s leather jacket, which clunked onto the floor; Dean practically tore off Rhonda’s jacket and it soon landed on top of his.

Rhonda playfully pushed Dean away, for a moment he wondered if he’d done something wrong, he opened his mouth to stammer and apology but her finger across his lips hushed him. Then, as Dean looked into her twinkling eyes, she winked, grabbed his hand and guided him to her bedroom.

Rhonda pushed him back onto the bed, he landed with a bounce and thud, grinning broadly as he stared at her slowly approach him.

‘You’ve been very bad, Dean Winchester. Do you know what happens to boys like you?’ Rhonda’s eyes gleaned as she began to climb up the bed, on her hands and knees.

Mouth suddenly dry Dean shook his head.

Rhonda hitched her skirt up a little so she could straddle Dean. She leaned in, pressing her soft breasts to his chest and drawing a little groan from Dean as she kissed a little spot behind his ear that he had no idea drove him crazy until then. Her breath tickled as she whispered straight into his ear, ‘they get punished.’

‘P...p...punished?’ Dean squeaked

‘Oh Dean, the things I’m going do to you,’ Rhonda teased trailing a manicured fingernail lightly down his chest and stomach as she sat back on his thighs. He smoothed his (only mildly shaking) hands up and down her legs as she slowly undid his jeans to reveal his black boxers. She looked down, her eyes narrowed as she slowly dragged the tip of her tongue against her bottom lip; little Dean was very happy to see her.

As Rhonda continued to climb up Dean’s body, he couldn’t help but quiver at the touch of another body brushing against his. As Rhonda straddled his hips, Dean sat up and began to gently kiss her neck, Rhonda moaned in delight and pressed her fingers into his shoulder blades; Dean groaned against her lips. As he began to unbutton her dress, Rhonda peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto the arm chair. As Dean undid the last button, revealing her royal blue lace trimmed bra, he traced his hand up the hem of Rhonda’s dress, his fingers pressing into her thighs. In response Rhonda started to grind into him, Dean hitched the skirt of her dress up to her hip revealing her matching panties.

The dress quickly got thrown across the room, as Dean gently caressed the curves of Rhonda’s body, causing her to tremble in delight. She grabbed Dean’s hair, pulling their mouths together once more. It wasn’t long before lust took over and both,and Dean’s boxers and Rhonda’s panties, were propelled across the room.

************************************

Dean lay on Rhonda’s bed, with Rhonda hooked under his arm and laying on his chest, gently moving with the rise and fall. ‘That was awesome,’ he beamed, his cheeks flushed with a post sex glow. In that moment he was a normal 19 year old, not the gun wielding, monster hunting, social pariah.

‘I want you to do something for me,’ Rhonda grinned, as she made small circles, on his chest, with her finger.

Dean smirked, ‘Oh yeah? what’s that?’

Rhonda leaned over to her night stand and pulled out a pair of hot pink satin panties. Slowly she turned back towards Dean dangling the panties in her hand, her eyes narrowed and her eyebrow raised, as devilish smile crept across her lips, ‘Lets see how daring you really are’

Dean looked at Rhonda then at the panties and back again, ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Dance for me…’ Rhonda, looked at the satin panties and slowing twirled them around her finger, ‘...in these.’

Dean laughed nervously, ‘You’re joking?’

‘If you do it...’ she leant over and playfully nipped the bottom of his lip. Before he could kiss her, she pulled back. She sat up in the bed, the sheet barely covering her; Dean couldn’t help but stare as she slowly trailed her fingers down the curves of her body, ‘...you’ll be rewarded.’

He grabbed the panties out of her hand; at first, he looked at them, horrified that he was even considering it. But he had nothing to lose. He excused himself to the bathroom, he wasn’t about to embarrass himself in front of an audience; damn it, he had some dignity.

Dean closed the door behind him and took a better look at them before looking down at his crotch, ‘these are never going to fit!’ he thought. He stretched them as far as he could before stepping into the panties. As he pulled them up, the lace trim dragged against the hairs on his legs. As the panties reached his hips, he could feel them dig into his inner thighs but the silky material felt really good against his skin. Once the panties were on, he felt the cooling material against the imprint of Rhonda’s hand on his butt cheek; it took some adjusting to make sure they fit all of him but he was surprised that they weren’t as snug as he thought. He couldn’t resist checking himself out in the mirror, he actually looked good; sure the bright satin was stretched tight but it accentuated the musculature of his pert ass. The hot pink contrasted against his tan skin, making it look more golden than usual, the cut showed off his hip bones, the softness of the satin made the already defined lines even more pronounced.

He hovered outside the door, feeling anxious about what he had just agreed to, he heard a familiar drum beat, but couldn’t work out what it was. As the song began Dean, channelling his inner rock god, strutted into the bedroom. He turned around and started to slowly sway his hips from side to side, keeping in surprisingly good, time to the music. As the tempo increased, Dean thrust his hips forward and back, little Dean only just managing to stay secure inside the satin. He looked over at Rhonda, who was clearly enjoying what she saw, and decided to up the ante. He grabbed the blue bra he’d thrown earlier from the lampshade, and started swinging it, before releasing it onto the bed. He resumed his hip thrusts as he moved across the room, and back to the bed. Abruptly, he launched himself off the ground, and landed beside Rhonda, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

‘Impressive,’ Rhonda beamed, ‘Now for your reward, do you remember the track number for ‘My Sharona on the jukebox?’

Dean grinned inanely, ‘uhhuh.’ was all he could stammer.

Rhonda didn’t say a word, instead she slowly moved down Dean’s body to ensure he would never forget his time in Queens.

The Next morning, he awoke to the feeling of being in a strange environment. He felt an arm drape across his shoulder; craning his neck he could see it was Rhonda’s. Dean beamed like a Cheshire cat as he turned back round. He lay there savouring the events of the previous night for a few moments, including the sexy dance, a thought occurred to him, ‘Dad’s, gonna kill me if I don’t get the car back.’ The last thing he wanted was another ‘you’re a crap son’ talk from John.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Rhonda, he pulled back the covers and scrambled into his jeans. Then, putting his hunter skills to work located the rest of his clothes and bolted.

It wasn’t until Dean was a little way down the road, with the help of a small pothole, that he realised that he still had Rhonda’s panties on. At first, he was a little alarmed that he hadn’t realised sooner, which led to the question of where had his underwear ended up?

‘Satiny,’ he smirked as he continued to drive.


	9. Now

Sam was awoken by a loud crashing sound that had him sitting bolt upright in his bed; unsure of where it was coming from. Bleary eyed, he leapt out of bed, reaching out for his trusty nickel Taurus PT92 from the night stand.

‘Dean?’ Sam called as he entered the corridor. He checked Dean’s room, only to find it empty. As he searched the Bunker, he felt panic rising in his throat when Dean didn’t answer. Dozens of scenarios raced through his mind as he cleared each area, none of them good.

‘Dean!’ He repeated, but still no response.

As he worked his way through the labyrinth of corridors, Sam heard another sound, this time he knew it was coming from; back to the wall, gun ready, he crept to the kitchen. 

‘What the hell?’ Sam questioned as he approached the doorway. He furrowed his brow as he heard the distinct sound of pans clattering, humming mixed with out of tune singing. He walked in to find Dean, in his robe, fixing himself a late-night snack.

‘Dude its 3am, what are you doing? Sam demanded, ensuring the safety was on before putting his gun on the counter.

Dean jumped as he heard Sam’s voice coupled with the pearl handle of the gun hitting the counter top.

‘Dude not cool,’ he barked, putting the spatula down on the counter. As he looked at Sam’s resting bitch face Dean shrugged, ‘What? I was hungry ok!’

‘Pancakes at 3 am?’ Sam questioned

‘The body wants what the body wants Sam’

‘Fine, whatever. Where’s Cas?’

Dean grinned and with an element of pride said, ‘Passed out in his room.’

‘Passed out?’ Sam tilted his head, ‘Can Angels even do that?’

‘I dunno man. My guess is he can’t handle his liquor like he used to, that or the five rounds of Dean-ablos he chowed down on.’

‘I told you those things were lethal.’

Dean grinned like a Cheshire cat, ‘Yeah they are,’ he chuckled ‘remember the time your head almost exploded.

‘Vividly’ Sam snapped

‘Man, good times,’ Dean muttered. He set his plate down on the dark mahogany table, as he straddled the stool. He looked over to Sam, ‘Are you just going to stand there?’ Dean asked as he motioned Sam to sit.

‘Yeah sure whatever,’ Sam joined him on the opposite stool, uncomfortably watching him devour the short stack.

Sam cleared his throat, as Dean continued to noisily chew, he knew Dean well enough that he wasn’t just casually eating pancakes at 3am.

‘So,’ he laughed nervously, ‘what's eating you?’

Dean stopped mid chew, ‘Nothing,’ he said as bits of pancake fell out onto the table.

‘Seriously, swallow first then speak.’ Sam scolded

Dean rolled his eyes as he finished his bite, ‘Happy now?’

‘Dean…pancakes at 3am?’ Sam repeated

Dean looked at Sam like a petulant child, ‘Just...drop it.’

Sam glared at Dean, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable at being dinner theatre, he finally cracked, ‘Fine, do you remember the job Dad and I did in Queens?’ Dean put his fork down, ‘It was the early days of Dad and I working together, very early days, and we were chasing this Skinwalker.’

‘Yeah, Dad packed me off to Bobby’s.’

‘Dad was on my case the entire time; the guy did not let up once.’

‘Nurturing, Winchester style.’ Sam smirked

‘You should’ve seen him when he bailed me out, man he was pissed.’

‘Dean get to the point!’ Sam sighed

‘Ok, calm down Mariah. Some stuff happened today, and it jolted my memory. I thought I was awesome at the time but turns I was just a liability, he should’ve left me at Bobby’s with you.’

‘Dude you were what? 19, how were you supposed to know how to work a case properly?’

Dean pushed the plate to the centre, folding his arms and leaning forward, ‘Dad had been training me since I was five, little things at first.’ He sighed, as Sam listened intently, ‘by the time I was ten I could shoot, drive and lie to the cops...sort of.’

‘I don’t remember any of that.’ Sam said.

‘Of course you don’t you were a snot nosed kid. You only learnt all that stuff when I wanted you to.’ 

‘Huh, even then you were looking out for me.’

‘It’s my job to protect you Sammy. Even if you have become an overgrown moose man.’ Sam and Dean chuckled together, before Dean sighed, ‘I guess I thought that with all my training I would kick any job’s ass that dad took me on.’ He paused looking down at the table, ‘instead I let him down...again.’

‘Dean you worked the case, caught the monster, saved the day. Who cares if you didn’t do it the way Dad told you to?’ Sam reassured, ‘And you got the girl right?’

Dean raised his eyebrow, ‘Yeah I did. She was something…..’

‘ I don’t need the all gory details about you and Rhonda,’ Sam interrupted.

Dean narrowed his eyes, ‘I never told you her name.’

‘Is that the time? I’d better go and, you know, hit the hay,’ Sam said as he got up to leave.

‘Stop...sit,’ Dean commanded, ‘how do you know her name?’

Sam obeyed and sat back down, clearing his throat, ‘Erm… you told me. You know, when you and Dad got me from Bobby’s.’

Dean glared at him, he knew 19 year old him wouldn’t have named names. ‘Sam,’ he demanded in his best dad impression.

Sam laughed nervously, as he walked over to the draw unit beside the sink. He looked over at Dean, whose nose had crinkled and eyes narrowed, then back to the draws. He slid it open and carefully pulled out, what he long presumed to be, Rhonda’s hot pink satin panties, complete with black lace trim. Sam tossed them over onto the table, where they landed, almost on top of the remaining stack of pancakes.

‘If it helps you were very drunk at the time, which I didn’t think was possible any more.’ Sam gestured with an added nervous laugh.

‘You’re joking?’ Dean said, his jaw clenched. He sat there for a few seconds, pursing his lips and intermittently nodding. Suddenly, he lunged out of his seat, he was pissed. Sam took that as his cue get out as quickly as he could.

Dean quickly gave chase, he couldn’t believe Sam knew about his night with Rhonda. He chased Sam out of the kitchen, towards Sam’s room only to hear the door slam shut and the lock click. He edged his ear to the door only to be greeted to Sam guffawing with laughter. As he stood there he considered knocking the door down, shouting and hollering as Sam laughed at him…or he could finish his delicious syrup-soaked pancakes.

He returned to his seat and pulled the plate back towards him. As Dean cut a piece of pancake, the left corner of his lip curled up into a smile. Raising the piece to his lips, he remarked, ‘Son of a bitch.’


End file.
